


Tigra: Soujourn

by TigraClaws



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25872955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TigraClaws/pseuds/TigraClaws
Summary: Tigra hasn't gotten to be an Avenger, or even much of a superhero, in some time, and she grows more and more despondent, but when events spiral out of control, it's up to this forgotten were-cat to explore the mysterious origins of her powers and save the Avengers...but can she overcome her bestial side before it's too late?Love. Sex. Blood. War. Will the beast win out, or can she find a measure of peace with the passions in her heart?
Relationships: Mockingbird/Hawkeye, Tigra/Black Knight, Tigra/Captain America, Tigra/Emma Frost, Tigra/Kraven (one-sided), Tigra/Quicksilver, Vision/Scarlet Witch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Tigra: Soujourn

“So should I, uh, turn my head and cough?” Tigra asked, deadpan.

Bobbi let out an exasperated noise, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt. Her current patient wasn’t as surly or uncooperative as many of her charges, but she was entirely too energetic and enthusiastic. Telling Tigra to get undressed resulted in a naked cat girl, preening and stretching and grinning ear to ear, flashing fangs, at her discomfort. 

At the moment, Tigra was in a hospital gown, sitting on the end of the examination table, kicking her feet absentmindedly and swishing her tail. She had her hair pulled back in a clip to be helpful, as it was long enough now it would have pooled on the bed behind her. In truth, Bobbi had always been amazed at how talented Greer was at wearing her bushy, wild hair that long and never seeming to let it get in her way.

She looked...good. 

The truth was, Bobbi hadn’t seen Greer in some time, her own work as an occasional Avenger or Agent keeping her dance card full, and Greer had dropped off the radar once the Academy closed. Bobbi knew bad things had happened and it was a sore spot for her. 

She’d always liked Greer’s energy. Even now, as she was talking to Bobbi, she was glancing around, her slit eyes taking everything in, her pointed ears tilting toward sounds, her nostrils occasionally flaring. It was so like a normal cat’s demeanor, constantly reacting to prey stimuli, that it made her reconsider the book on predator behavior tempered by human thought patterns she’d been fantasizing about writing--if this whole superhero SHIELD Agent thing didn’t work out.

Greer looked healthy. Her coat and hair were shiny and silky, she was bright and alert, her tail was in constant motion. She was here for her annual Avengers physical, and she was enjoying every second of it. 

“Can I continue the exam, or would you like to continue making jokes and innuendos?" She tried for stern, but it didn’t help.

“Ooo, Rawr!” Greer focused on her, arching an eyebrow. I like this side of you, Mocky! My safe word is ‘Dog Breath.’ Should I call ya Mistress? Doctor? Doc Mistress?”

“I swear, there are times I think having Clint in here grumbling and refusing to comply with even the simplest instructions makes him the worst, but you are coming in a close second.” She started noting some of Greer’s vitals on her clipboard, filling in personal info, and Greer replied.

“Oh. Challenge Accepted. I refuse to come in second to ANYTHING Hawkeye does.”

She clucked at Greer. “You’re setting yourself a low bar.” 

The cat girl laughed at that, but then she sobered and asked, only half joking, “So give it to me straight, Doc. How bad is it?”

“Bad?” Bobbi almost laughed at that.”Greer, honey, you’re healthier, stronger, than I’ve ever seen you. Your vitals are perfect. Jen tracked you pressing twenty tons,” she paused because Greer’s eyes widened at that. That’s close to double what we tracked you at back in our WHACKO days.” Bobbi paged through the chart, pointing out Greer’s numbers. “Your reaction time is so close to instant we don’t have machines that can track it. You completed the obstacle course faster than anyone not named Quicksilver, earlier. Your bloodwork is pristine. You’re doing better than your baseline on every conceivable metric."

“So what’s it mean?” Greer was peering at the numbers. While she was not a stupid woman, and had actually worked as a lab assistant for a time, Bobbi knew a lot of the jargon was lost on her. Superhuman Physiology was not a medical discipline many were familiar with.

“Look at your blood results...protein levels, genetic profile, everything from oxygenation to white cell count. Greer.” Bobbi fixed her gaze on the cat girl’s, her expression earnest, “You’re not aging. Compared to your baseline Dr. Pym,” and she winced, forgetting the pain that particular relationship might cause her friend, “established years ago, I’d say you’re actually younger. At least healthwise,” she held up a hand when Greer opened her mouth to ask questions, “I don’t mean you’re de-aging, but being Tigra is making you, well, the picture of health. You’re growing stronger and healthier in every way I know to test and measure.”

Greer stared at the chart, her tail lashing as her mind raced. Bobbi continued. “There’s so much about you we don’t know, honey, so much about what being Tigra actually means. Added to that much of your physiology is magic, there are things I don’t even know HOW to study. Your claws, for instance, appear to be made of standard keratin, but I legitimately can’t find a way to break them.”

“So you’re saying I’m a superpowered were-Tiger who seems to be permanently in the prime of her life? Bobbi, I can live with that.” She flashed her fanged grin and Bobbi smiled.

“I’d like to run more tests and…” Greer shook her head slowly.

“Mocky, I’m not an Avenger. I’m barely a reservist. They haven’t asked me to do anything Avenger related since the Academy. I won’t be here past this afternoon.”

“Right,” she began, “I just thought--” Again, Greer shook her head.

“We both know they’re not gonna. I’m honestly a little surprised they haven’t asked me for my ID card yet.”

Bobbi sighed. “Look, I’ll talk to Cap, maybe Tony. Maybe we can get you back in some capacity?”

Greer smiled at her again, but it was an empty one, Her slit eyes unreadable. “Ok, sure. You do that. I’ll stay in New York for at least a few days. Maybe schedule some shopping therapy with Jen. Or Jan. Or Jess.” She smirked, a spark of mischief rekindling in her eyes. “We have a lot of ‘J’ friends, don’t we?”

***

The old tenement was run down, unremarkable. Just another grey building on a block of grey buildings, rusted fire escapes that looked like they might possibly be more dangerous than an actual fire. They were concrete monuments to poverty and misery. On the second floor in an unremarkable apartment sitting on a threadbare couch that smelled vaguely of piss, Parker Robbins, the Hood, sat. Brooding.

The sound of the Starkbox Jigsaw was playing was steadily wearing on his nerves, and he scowled under his raised hood. The psychopath was hooting whenever he shot an alien on whatever ridiculous game he was playing, occasionally doing a fist pump or jumping to his feet to scream at the screen. 

He’d been someone. The Fucking Hood for Christ’s sake, and he was reduced to sitting in this shithole, desperately trying to rebuild his connections, breathe life into his old gang. 

Across the room, sitting at a small table, Demonicus sat texting. He’d once fought the Avengers, now he was sitting in a denim jacket waiting on their Thai dinner to be delivered, and Robbins found that vaguely amusing even as he sympathized with it.

He glazed back at his laptop. The old video, the one he’d shot of Tigra, was trending again. Some geek had added cartoon sound effects to it, and he grinned to himself as the screen showed him punching the bitch in the face accompanied by a BONK and then a slide whistle as she fell.

Tigra was on his list. 

When his walkie crackled and Foolkiller’s voice came through, he perked up.

“Boss, think we got a recruit. He wants to come up to talk.”

“Who is it?”

“You ain’t gonna believe this one. Kraven.”

For a moment, Robbins froze. Kraven? Finally, he thought, we’re getting somewhere.

“Well, for fuck’s sake, send him up!”

He flipped off the TV and Jigsaw scowled, his ruined features twisting into something even worse, and quickly gathered up empty wrappers and beer cans, tidying up a bit. Kravinff was a legend among the criminals and villains he was used to associating with, and having him join up would lend a lot of fresh credibility. 

Kravinoff was a tall man, tall and lean, with a general wolfish demeanor that gave him away. He was dressed simply: black trousers, a black button up shirt, boots, a long, leather coat. He’d grown his hair long and it was pulled back in a loose pony tail. It was black, shot through with grey, and the short full beard he wore matched it. He had strong, craggy features, but Robbins knew he was considered handsome in a rugged way. He moved well, a natural, animalistic grace. He loped, again, like a wolf, into the room, gaze flickering over Demonicus and Jigsaw.

“Kraven,” Robbins began, a grim smile breaking over his face. “Welcome!”

Kraven regarded him with deep set eyes. They were steel, intelligent, shrewd, and cunning. “Thank you, Mr. Robbins. In truth, I’ve wanted to meet you for some time.”

“Oh? How did you hear about our enterprise?” He was genuinely curious, having sent out gang bangers with the news their crew was back, promising big scores and protection, just as he had before. He was a bit surprised a guy like Kraven the Hunter, who tended to run in pretty rarefied circles, had even heard of them, much less how to find them.

“Oh, you’ll find when I seek a quarry, it takes little effort on my part.” Kraven held his gaze and then walked slowly across the room. His hands were up and with exaggerated slowness he drew a dagger from his belt. It was an antique thing with a steel blade and a bone handle, and he slowly placed it on the counter top of the island separating the meager living room from the tiny kitchen, and he followed it with another weapon from under his coat, a native american style tomahawk, all darkened, aged steel and a lovingly cared for wooden handle.

Parker Robbins felt a twinge of something...trepidation maybe. 

“So, let me start off--” Robbins began, his voice steady despite the sudden attack of nerves, but Kraven’s deep, gravelly voice cut him off.

“Where is the Amulet of Aton? Do you still have it?"

Robbins froze.

With one hand, he picked up the laptop--the paused screen showing a closeup of Tigra’s face as she fell away from one of his blows.

“Others may have been fooled, but a hunter always knows, my friend.” Kraven turned and regarded him, and Robbins' pulse picked up. “This one has beaten Kraven. There is no world when she would grovel to a coward such as you. After much thought, I realized you must have had the Amulet.”

“I don’t have it anymore. The Avengers confiscated most of that. If I had to guess, its Strange’s now.” Robbins' voice was monotone. It’d been a gift from his demonic benefactor, an ancient amulet created by some Egyptian sorcerer, designed to strip away the animal instinct of any servant of Bast nearby. It’d been created for some war, and it’d had the desired effect. Tigra, normally fierce and savage, had been mewling like a kitten when they jumped her, senses dulled to their presence and severely weakened.

“She is magnificent. The greatest prey I’ve ever encountered. For years I’ve avoided this hunt, favoring the fight with Spider-Man.” Robbins didn’t think he was speaking to him, more musing to himself.

Steeling himself, Robbins shot back, “She’s a furry freak. Don’t worry, we’re going to pay that bitch back. With interest. We’ll--” He paused. Kravinoff was laughing, then he shook his head.

“Oh, No, I’m afraid not. You see, the time has come. I will make her my prey. Before this hunt is over, she will crawl to her Master and lick his hand. I will put my collar on her, she will come to me and warm my bed, and one day, will bear me sons--sons who will be the greatest hunters this planet has ever seen.”

Robbins gulped. He saw Foolkiller draw his pistol. Jigsaw was standing now, hand on the butt end of a baseball bat riddled with nails. “Look, no judging here. You want, I can get Mandrill to dose her with his power and you can do what you want with her, she’ll bend over willingly. I mean, unless you want her to kick and scream? We could always kidnap that ugly little kid of hers and she’ll do anything we want..”

Kraven was very still. The air was thick with tension.

“You are a dishonorable weakling. A part of me is tempted to leave you alive so that my future mate can enjoy killing you herself, but no. I will give her your heart as a gift the night I first take her to my furs.”

Robbins grinned--a nasty, humorless grin--and then snarled, “Know what, kill this motherfucker!”

It happened quickly. Kraven went from perfect stillness to explosive motion in an instant, snatching up his dagger and axe. Jigsaw went for his bat, but Kraven was already on him, and the first blow from the Tomahawk took the man’s hand off at the wrist. Bright blood spurted, Robbins choked, shocked, and fumbled for his guns, but Kraven was already spinning, his dagger piercing Demonicus through the eye, flipping the body with his momentum to catch Foolkiller’s first shot. With one arm, he threw the corpse at the ex-vigilante and then was on him, the tomahawk slinging blood as it swung, and then Robbins was firing wildly, wishing vainly for his demonic powers to return, but Kraven was devilishly fast, crossing the distance between two pulls of the trigger.

Robbins didn’t know how or even where he was struck, but suddenly his guns were falling from nerveless fingers and he was slumping, unable to make his body work. Kraven retrieved his dagger and loomed over him.

“A simple nerve strike, my friend. I’m afraid you won’t be able to move for a few minutes. I once used it on Tigra, you see, and thought it would be poetic. Unfortunately, you do not have her constitution. She was up almost instantly and chasing me.”

The man knelt, using the dagger blade to part Robbins’ shirt. “Now. I swore to deliver your heart to her.”

Robbins couldn't make any intelligible sound but a wordless groan of protest. He tried, wanting to bargain, wanting to deal, wanting to convince the Hunter to join.

“What is it you said to her? ‘Go ahead and scream, no one can hear you?’ Something like that I think. Do not worry, every hunter knows how to dress his prey.”

Robbins did began to scream as the dagger came down.


End file.
